


Tell Me You Fucking Need Me

by patroclilles



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst and Porn, M/M, Makeup Sex, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 21:58:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3397784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patroclilles/pseuds/patroclilles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once Mickey got into Ian’s space, he couldn't back away. He wanted to be closer, and never turn back. Never run away. Never leave him.</p><p>“You can’t just fucking run off whenever you can’t deal with the idea of <i>getting fucking better</i>,” he accentuated every word with another shove, and every shove made Ian’s expression fall more and more. And then he snapped out of it, just as quickly as he snapped when he knocked the pill canister from Mickey’s hands just an hour before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me You Fucking Need Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mickeysupset](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeysupset/gifts).



> Set post 5x06; Ian's out of the hospital and on medication.

“Fuck!” Mickey yelled, kicking over one of the dozens of suitcases scattered across the living room in utter frustration. His outburst woke Yevgeny, causing the child to cry out, which called Svetlana from her room, making Mickey all the more anxious because it was now two more people he had to worry about.

“Why did you wake baby? What is wrong?” Svetlana ambled sleepily across the living room to pick up Yevgeny and rock him back to sleep. She seemed concerned by Mickey’s outburst, and while upset that the baby was woken when Mickey was supposed to be watching him, she knew something was wrong.

“Ian fucking bolted,” Mickey said, shaking fingers attempting to redial on his phone. 

“Shit,” Svetlana cursed under her breath, looking around and noticing a pill canister lying on its side on the floor. Must’ve been another spat about the meds, she figured. 

“I don’t know where the fuck he could be right now,” Mickey sputtered, staring at his cell phone screen, thoughts running a mile a minute. 

Mickey considered following Ian, but he’d been so upset over their earlier argument that he had decided out of spite to let Ian go. _He’ll come back_ , Mickey had thought darkly; feeling way too hopeful then. 

Now, Mickey felt just the opposite standing in his living room at midnight with a crying baby echoing his hurt inside.

If Mickey wandered the South Side now, he’d have no destination in mind, because goodness knew where Ian had in mind then.

He ran a hand down his face as Svetlana looked on and Yevgeny fell back again to sleep. His hands didn’t help wipe the sweat off by much; they were shaking and just as moist. He wanted to scream.

He called Ian instead. Voicemail.

“Ian, I swear to God, please answer. Don’t do this.” _Not now, not after last time._

“Please, Ian,” he just managed before hanging up. He looked up at Svetlana’s concerned eyes, knowing she, too, was too worried and tired to think straight. 

He didn’t know where Ian could be; where he’d go now. Alone, with nothing but a tank top and sweatpants on. 

Mickey was about to curl up on his couch when his phone buzzed in his hand.

It was a text, from Debbie. _Ian’s upset. He’s here._

Mickey let out a long sigh of relief, running his hands again over his sweaty face. His worry and exhaustion were still very much engulfing him, but he found that something else was fueling and leading his legs straight to the Gallagher’s front steps within just a matter of minutes.

He inwardly thanked whoever let the door unlocked - _probably Ian_ \- and walked into the living room, pausing to assess the setting.

Debbie was on the couch next to Carl and with Liam on her lap. They were watching some detective show on television.

“Ian’s upstairs,” Carl said as soon as he realized Mickey’s presence. Mickey couldn’t seem to place what kind of feeling was in the air; like the kids knew something was wrong, but they were _used_ to it.

“Thanks,” Mickey muttered, walking up the steps before Debbie or Carl could respond.

He should have felt relieved that he found Ian, but he felt angry because he hadn’t thought this would be the first place Ian would go. _Of fucking course he’d come back home_ , Mickey thought angrily, and a little enviously. 

He walked down the hallway straight to Ian’s old bedroom and was immediately unnerved by Ian’s absence from it. He quickly looked in the bathroom and didn’t see Ian there either. He tried for Fiona’s room next. 

After he opened the door, it took a while for Mickey’s eyes to adjust to the darkness, but it didn’t take at all long for him to recognize the silhouette of a tall, redheaded boy standing on the other end of the small room, staring and blowing cigarette smoke out of the open window.

Mickey let the door slam audibly behind him, causing Ian to jolt. 

“I told you to leave me alone, Deb - ” Ian started as he stubbed out his cigarette and turned around with an eyeroll. He was interrupted by surprise when he recognized his boyfriend breathing heavily, leaning exhaustedly on the closed door, as if the short walk over here winded him.

“Mickey...” Ian began, but Mickey didn’t let him finish. 

“What the fuck is _wrong_ with you, Gallagher?!” Mickey yelled as he walked across the room and shoved Ian as soon sound left the other boys’ mouth.

Once he got into Ian’s space, he couldn’t back away. He wanted to be closer, and never turn back. Never run away. Never leave him.

“You can’t just fucking run off whenever you can’t deal with the idea of _getting fucking better_ ,” he accentuated every word with another shove, and every shove made Ian’s expression fall more and more. And then he snapped out of it, just as quickly as he snapped when he knocked the canister from Mickey’s hands just an hour before.

“ _Fuck you, Mickey._ ” Ian snarled, shoving back, but not hard enough to get Mickey out of his space. 

(He never wanted Mickey out of his space, no matter how many times Ian ran away from it.)

“That all you got, Ian?” Mickey pressed closer, bringing his hand to splay across Ian’s sternum, warning and hot. Ian felt like he was set on fire by the touch. He thought it was anger. 

Maybe it was. Maybe it confusion, maybe frustration. Maybe fucking everything. 

Mickey angrily shoved again and Ian slumped against the window pane under the pressure as Mickey walked forward to put his legs between Ian’s.

“Come the fuck home,” Mickey said, sounding way more sure than he actually felt. 

“I’m fucking fine,” Ian responded with conviction. He felt weak, but overwhelmed with spite. So he kept on.

“You don’t fucking think I want to get better?” Ian said in the small, dark space between their faces, responding to a concern Mickey never once voiced throughout the night, but a concern that loomed over Ian’s head every moment Mickey brought up taking his pills or seeing his doctor. 

Mickey dropped his head and looked down, not bothering to answer, but with just another plea. 

“Come home, Ian,” he repeated, _this_ time sounding as unsure as he felt.

But Ian’s spite hadn’t washed away. He said words he knew would kill Mickey. 

“This was my home once, you know,” Ian said, eyes narrowing and snarl becoming so vindictive it tore Mickey apart inside. Ian wanted Mickey to never leave him but, oh, did he keep pushing. Testing. Trying to prove himself right that he didn’t deserve Mickey. 

“It always will be,” Ian finished with a whisper.

A few moments passed in silence, but it only felt like a blink of the eye, because what Ian said had transcended all physics of time, and it would play in Mickey’s mind for long after this night.

Ian couldn’t stop, though. Never could, with Mickey. “You don’t think I want to get better,” Ian said again, this time not as a question. “I don’t fucking need you to make me better,” he finished finally.

At these words - these words of fucking _absurdity_ \- Mickey’s eyes snapped up to meet Ian’s gaze. If it weren’t for the streetlight shining into the dark room at that moment - if it weren’t for how close Mickey was to Ian - Mickey would have missed the tear that fell down Ian’s freckled cheek.

Mickey knew what Ian was doing. _He’s trying to hurt you._ Why? Mickey didn’t understand. He didn’t want to understand.

Mickey knew hurt. Too many times to count. But nothing, _nothing_ , could ever hurt more than losing Ian. He’d done it too many times before, and he couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t because - 

“ _I_ fucking need you,” Mickey whispered, hand now going slack on Ian’s chest, no longer hot, but warm. So warm.

And his hand rose higher before he knew what he was doing. He was grabbing Ian’s neck before he knew what he was doing. He was closer before he knew it. 

“I fucking need you, Ian,” he said again, feeling sure and unsure all the same. He pressed closer, running his thumb along Ian’s slackened jaw. 

“Come home,” Mickey said at long last. He hoped the cool breeze that blew in from the late night would dry up the tears that threatened to burst out of his eyes.

But Ian didn’t let them fall.

He surged forward and met Mickey’s lips with his own with such fervor that Mickey’s knees buckled, but he found balance in Ian’s hold. He breathed heavily and tasted the cigarettes, tasted _Ian_ and never wanted to stop tasting him, because anything Ian touched or tasted or felt was precious and right and blessed to have this boy touching it. 

Just as blessed as Mickey felt as Ian walked them towards the bed, lips never disconnecting. 

Never disconnecting even as Ian moved them slowly onto the bed. And Mickey felt like Ian was setting him down onto it like a fucking feather, when it was Mickey who felt like he was walking on eggshells this entire time.

No one was sick when they were like this. No one was broken. That’s how it felt to Mickey. That’s how it felt to Ian. Everything was real. The kisses on the side of Mickey’s jaw, they were real. The hands running up hairy arms; real. The fingers brushing through long, dark strands of hair - real, real, real.

He couldn’t help the moans that Ian brought out as the redhead worked his way down Mickey’s body, removing Mickey’s tank and immediately dipping his head to kiss along his abs once Mickey’s skin was bare.

“Fuck,” Mickey breathed when Ian brought down his sweatpants and threw them across the room. It was just as exciting as their first time, it never wasn’t. But, unlike that first time, this time meant so much _more_.

Ian licked his hand and stroked Mickey’s cock with dexterity, making sure that every movement had Mickey writhing and begging for more.

Fuck. Mickey below him. Mickey _here_. It was all as real as the memories of loss, as the love that Ian felt pool into his gut, as the _want_ that never went away when it came to Mickey. The want that made Ian pull closer until his lips met his boyfriend’s throbbing dick. 

He wrapped his lips around Mickey, moving up and down, getting sloppier and more desperate with every flick of the tongue. But soon he felt Mickey’s fingers grip and grip, pulling him higher and higher, until he found his tongue meeting Mickey’s tongue instead, and Mickey couldn’t stop fucking _moaning_. Ian never wanted to stop hearing those sounds.

“Moan in my mouth while I finger you,” Ian growled into Mickey’s mouth and Mickey’s back bowed, electrified, when Ian moved his sweaty slick hand down to grab Mickey’s cheek, and all too soon he entered two fingers into Mickey’s hole.

“Fuck, Ian!” Mickey yelled as he bit down onto Ian’s bottom lip, making Ian smile against Mickey’s panting mouth. It hurt, Ian catching him off guard, pulling his fingers in and out, stretching him, testing him, but Mickey let himself go, like he always did. He let the pleasure consume him, and consume him it did. 

With his eyes closed and fingers moving, Ian let himself focus on the sounds Mickey spilled into his mouth, until he couldn’t take it anymore and pulled back to search frantically through Fiona’s nightstand until he found what he was looking for.

Pulling back and quickly taking off his tank and sweatpants, he was back on top of Mickey as quickly as he'd gone off. He moved Mickey’s legs to wrap around his hips as he unwrapped the condom and covered himself, and then he pushed himself into Mickey, and Mickey welcome it. Wanted it. Begged for it. 

Ian never wanted to test Mickey again, though he knew his promises were never going to be as reliable now that he was sick. He’d never be able to trust himself again. Never again.

But he could trust Mickey. 

And he thrusted. And with every thrust Mickey would cry out, wrapping his legs tighter around Ian’s hips, pushing up and back and up and back. And on the next thrust, Mickey tossed his head to the side and bit his lip. At the movement Ian took his opportunity and nuzzled Mickey’s neck, breathing deeply, smelling cigarettes but feeling so fucking blessed to be so close to something so fucking toxic. Though nothing about Mickey was ever toxic anymore. 

With every thrust, Ian felt himself remedied. 

“I’m close, I’m close, I’m - _fuck, Ian_ ,” Mickey drew out, whining, not giving a damn about how needy he sounded.

Because now they both knew how much Mickey needed Ian. And Mickey didn’t give a _damn_.

Ian reached down and with a sweaty grip began stroking until Mickey was panting _close, close, close_ without quite getting the sounds out, but Ian saw the words form again and again on Mickey’s lips. The brunette’s eyes shut tightly until he was mouthing _Ian_ and tensing up in overwhelming pleasure and at the silent call Ian dipped his head and kissed Mickey passionately as his own shuddering orgasm crippled him.

They came moaning into each other’s mouth, not giving a fucking damn.

Heartbeats as loud as the crickets outside, Ian let himself fall onto Mickey’s side, not caring to clean himself up or reach for the water on the nightstand that was sure to quench his thirst.

Mickey let out a shaky breath as Ian wrapped his leg around his waist, getting comfortable even though nothing should feel comfortable about tonight. After Ian bolted.

Mickey grunted and shoved Ian’s limbs off him. He moved off the bed and Ian felt like a boulder had been set on him, like he was being left behind after being so close to something he needed so much. 

But Mickey didn’t go too far. He walked across the room and reached for his sweatpants, withdrawing the pill canister from its pocket - the canister that had started this whole rollercoaster of a night. He walked with it in hand and stood beside the bed where Ian lay.

Silence fell as Mickey played with the bottle, pills shuffling eerily dissonant with the chirping outside. 

“You can’t fuck your way out of everything, man,” Mickey sighed, sounding defeated. He stared down at the canister in hand, and couldn’t look away from it; couldn't bring himself to believe that this is how it’d be for the rest of their lives: Ian ending his nights with a pill canister.

Ian mirrored the sigh where he lay and turned, straightening himself on the bed and reaching to tug Mickey back onto it. 

They both sat in silence, Mickey still staring at the hand with the soft grip on the canister as Ian nuzzled him and kissed chastely along the side of Mickey’s sweat soaked neck.

Mickey hardly noticed that Ian’s hand had inched closer to his hand and grabbed the bottle until he felt Ian stop kissing his neck and pull away.

Mickey looked on as Ian reached over Mickey to the nightstand and grabbed the cup of water. He stared in astoundment as Ian opened the bottle and tossed out one small, but oh so powerful, pill onto his open palm.

“I know,” Ian said solemnly before placing the pill carefully onto his tongue and chasing it with water. 

A few minutes later, while the shakes had him nervous, Ian found himself tumbling into a deep sleep. 

Mickey stroked Ian’s hair until the drugs brought Ian under. He was unable to sleep himself until the streetlight flickered off an hour later outside.

**Author's Note:**

> Peep me at [halseystr](http://halseystr.tumblr.com) on tumblr. Don't forget to leave comments and yo kudos!


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